


Patrick and the cake that never should have been

by fixme_in_fortyfive



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Birthdays, Cake, Fluff, M/M, Peterick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixme_in_fortyfive/pseuds/fixme_in_fortyfive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a birthdayfic and based on this prompt: Imagine person A has an awful birthday and everyone forgets. When they get home, they discover person B baked them a cake. Bonus: the cake is poorly made, but made with love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patrick and the cake that never should have been

**Author's Note:**

> As always: You find mistakes, you keep them, except for misplaced limbs and people.

_It’s not a big deal_ , Patrick thinks. 

They’re all really busy right now – the tour just ended and they all went to spend some time at home with their families - and these things happen. It’s not like he had planned anything for his birthday and nobody showed up. So they forgot, bu~hu, Patrick can live with that.

Except… it kind of stings that even Pete – his best friend, who has always made a big deal out of his birthday, for whom he’s been there all these years no matter what happened – didn’t call or even send him a text. It’s not even like he didn’t contact Patrick at all, no, he had send him a message earlier asking if he’d be home tonight and I if he could bother with an excuse, just saying that he would be home, but no, he could not watch them. 

So that stings, yeah, but it’s a feeling Patrick grew accustomed to. It’s not Pete’s fault Patrick wants more than he can have.

Patrick looks at the clock on his phone for a second before he concentrates on the dark road again. His birthday is almost over anyway now and he’s glad when he gets home and can just lie in bed, maybe get himself a drink to celebrate. It was a long day in the studio and Patrick feels a little bit drained.

Patrick wants to forget this whole day, really. From when his phone fell down this morning and the glass broke into a million pieces to when he missed an appointment at lunch and got an angry call from his publicist to being stuck in the studio because the recording didn’t work the first run-through. 

At least the streets are clear and he’s getting home without being stuck in traffic – not really a surprise this late in the evening, but with Patrick’s day he wouldn’t have been surprised either. Maybe a pickle truck exploded and blocks the streets – pickles lying everywhere. 

When he pulls up in front of his house he sees light inside... which is not supposed to be the case, but maybe he just forgot to turn them off this morning. Wouldn’t be the first time, especially if he’s late and in a hurry. 

So he’s not even thinking about it when he parks his car and walks to the door, keys dangling in hand. The prospect of his comfy bed makes him whistle a happy tune under his breath, now that he made it home. 

But he’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack when his front door flies open before he can get the key in and he’s attacked by a dark figure, stumbling backwards a few steps, his arms trapped between his body and the body of whoever the hell just jumped him.

“Surprise!” And now he’s probably deaf, too. 

Patrick has no idea what’s going on, except that his attacker is not, well, attacking him, but hugging him. It takes a moment more for Patrick to register who exactly is hanging onto him.

“Holy… God. Pete, you scared me half to death.” He grumbles, but it’s only half-heartedly. 

“What are you doing here?” Patrick loops one arm around Pete in a loose hug. He feels Pete tighten his grip for a second and then he steps back, releasing Patrick from the hug, looking at him with his trademark 100-watt smile. 

“Well, I’m not sure if you noticed, but it’s your birthday.” Even though Pete snuck into Patrick’s house he’s now pulling him inside like it’s his own place. Granted, there are times when it almost seems like he lives here, but he’s usually not coming over when Patrick is not home. 

“I noticed.” Patrick can’t really muster Pete’s high spirit. 

“Come on, ‘trick, you didn’t think I would forget, did you?” 

So Pete hadn’t forgotten, or at least did remember sometime during the day. Still, Patrick had a crappy day.

“Everyone else did.”

Pete’s smile wavers for a second, the thought of Patrick all forgotten on this day not pleasant to him either, before its back full force.

“I’m sorry. But on the flip side…”

Pete pulls him into the kitchen with one last firm drag and Patrick almost stumbles into him. He would glare at Pete, but he’s distracted by what he sees in his kitchen. He definitely didn’t leave it like that this morning. 

There are colorful streamers thrown over his otherwise clean counter and some balloons are floating through the air around them. But the most noticeable thing is the cake – Patrick thinks it’s a cake, it kind of looks like the mud cakes he 'baked' when he was a kid – in the middle of it all. The lights shining from above the counter make it looks like the cake has its own spotlight. 

It’s messy, coated with chocolate frosting like Pete just splashed it on by the spoonful. When Patrick looks back at Pete he can even see some bits on Pete’s clothes, combined with some powdery stuff – which could be flour. Somehow it suits Pete. A chaotic cake made by a chaotic man.

“Happy Birthday! I spend a whole lot of time on that, never tasted it though.”

“That looks… really good.” he says, because he’s not sure what he should say. If possible, Pete’s smile gets even wider and he looks proud – like he just won a marathon - and Patrick practically feels his bad mood dissolve. Well, a little white lie can’t hurt. If it makes Pete happy.

“Thank you. Now let’s eat some cake.”

Patrick gets pushed onto a chair by the counter, the message ‘ _let me do this_ ’ loud and clear. He watches Pete cut the cake in small pieces and then load them onto plates he obviously took out of Patrick’s cupboards in preparation. He really tried hard and thought of everything; it gives Patrick this pleasant feeling he always gets when Pete is not being an idiot. 

Patrick is excited to taste the cake. He can’t really remember if Pete ever baked anything before, but he lives alone and he’s not dead yet, so he’s not worried.

  
When Pete hands him a plate and Patrick takes his first bite, he really wishes he had not though. It takes all his willpower not to grimace with disgust. 

 **It tastes horrible.** Like, Patrick isn’t sure he ever ate anything as horrible as this cake – and he ate a lot of questionable food back in the day when they toured in the van – and Pete should never be allowed into a kitchen again. It’s pretty obvious he mixed up sugar and salt. 

But Patrick manages to chew – and yeah, that’s a lump of flour dissolving on his tongue – and compose his face, even smile a little. What’s another white lie, right?

“It’s good. Thank you.” Patrick swallows and because Pete looks even happier after his compliment and he’s an idiot he takes another bite and another – until he ate most of his cake from his plate. 

He’s so busy looking happy and chewing and swallowing without retching that he almost doesn’t see Pete taking a fork to taste the cake himself. 

And he can’t really let that happen. It’s really not thought out when he moves forward and snatches the fork from Pete’s hand, pushing it into his mouth. The taste makes the hair on his arms stand up, but he is ‘ _mmhh_ ’ing around the fork. Pete just looks at him smiling, an eyebrow raised.

Patrick shrugs when he pulls the fork from his mouth.

“Hey.. man. I wish I could eat th-”

“Oh no.” Pete gets up from his chair, interrupting Patrick’s attempt to distract him from the cake. He’s not sure what he did, but it worked. Even though it was a close call.

Pete is walking around the counter - away from the thing he calls a cake – and opens drawers left and right as he passes them, rummaging through them, his back to Patrick. 

“I forgot the candles, that’s like, half the fun.”

Patrick seizes the opportunity to spit the remaining cake from his mouth into a napkin he picks up from the counter and then throws blindly over his shoulder. It helps a little to get rid of the last disgusting pieces stuck to the roof of his mouth and he shudders at the thought.   
When Pete turns around again – Patrick trying to look like he didn’t move at all - he is holding a few birthday candles in his hand and start placing them on the cake before lighting them. 

“Come on, make a wish.” Again, Pete looks happy and hopeful – like the puppy he always tries to be. God, the soft spot he has for Pete is bigger than his hat-collection, it’s ridiculous. 

“Really? Isn’t that a bit... childish?” he says, just to irritate Pete a little. He takes what he can get.

“Oh, look at him, Mister-Almost-30, all grown up. Now blow out the damn candles.” Pete leans forward, across the counter as he says it, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. They’re facing each other now, the cake between them. Patrick has still no idea how to get rid of that abomination. 

Heaving a fake sigh Patrick stands up, too, now, so he can lean in – he’s too short and the counter is too wide, anyway. He takes a deep breath and blows it out towards the candles, getting all of them with one try. _I wish Pete never bakes again._

Patrick is surprised when the whole room falls into total darkness without the candles. Somehow even the light above the counter went out. 

“What did you-“ 

He starts to ask Pete what he did, but he never gets to finish. Instead, he feels firm, chapped lips press against his own in the darkness. The unmistakable scent of Pete – his favorite candy and the deodorant he buys since he’s known him – hits him when he takes a surprised breath. 

It only lasts a few seconds, then the feeling is gone, the lights go back on and he’s looking into Pete’s eyes, his face much closer than it was before the lights went out. 

Pete grins at him.

“That was… nice.” His brain hasn’t catched up yet, still lingering on the image of Pete kissing him – which he doesn’t actually has, because it was dark. But he thought about it so many times before, he thinks the picture is pretty accurate.

“Thanks.” Pete says and closes the space between them again, this time not only pressing his lips against Patrick’s but also exploring his lips and mouth with his tongue. Patrick feels like he might burst at any moment, hot and cold at the same time.

Until Pete draws back like he’s been burned.

“God, Patrick, I’m sorry, but what is that awful taste?”

Patrick actually has to laugh at that, almost throwing his head back. It’s the most honest laugh, a full body laugh, which is reserved for Pete, for moments like this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can send me prompts and a ship, if you want. Either here or on [tumblr](http://thatguyinachiffonskirt.tumblr.com/)


End file.
